The Curse of Carne's Hold: A Tale of Adventure

  CHAPTER III.

  TWO QUARRELS.

  Three days later the shooting party assembled. Several gentlemen came tostay at the house, while Ronald Mervyn and his party, of course, put upat Mervyn Hall. The shooting was very successful, and the party werewell pleased with their visit. Reginald Carne was quiet and courteous tohis guests, generally accompanying them through the day, though he didnot himself carry a gun. After the first day's shooting there was adinner party at Mervyn Hall, and the following evening there was one atThe Hold.

  Lieutenant Gulston enjoyed himself more than any one else, though he wasone of the least successful of the sportsmen, missing easy shots in amost unaccountable manner, and seeming to take but moderate interest inthe shooting. He had, very shortly after arriving at the house, come tothe conclusion that the doctor was altogether mistaken, and thatReginald Carne showed no signs whatever of being in any way differentfrom other men. "The doctor is so accustomed to us sailors," he said tohimself, "that if a man is quiet and studious he begins to fancydirectly there must be something queer about him. That is always theway with doctors who make madness a special study. They suspect everyone they come across of being out of their mind. I shouldn't be at allsurprised if he doesn't fancy I am cracked myself. The idea is perfectlyabsurd. I watched Carne closely at dinner, and no one could have beenmore pleasant and gentlemanly than he was. I expect Mackenzie must haveheard a word let drop about this old story, and of course if he did hewould set down Carne at once as being insane. Well, thank goodness,that's off my mind; it's been worrying me horribly for the last fewdays. I have been a fool to trouble myself so about Mackenzie'scroakings, but now I will not think anything more about it."

  On the following Sunday, as Ruth Powlett was returning from church inthe morning, and was passing through the little wood that lay betweenCarnesford and The Hold, there was a rustle among the trees, and GeorgeForester sprang out suddenly.

  "I have been waiting since daybreak to see you, Ruth, but as you camewith that old housekeeper I could not speak to you. I have been inPlymouth for the last week. I hear that they are after me for thatskirmish with the keepers, so I am going away for a bit, but I couldn'tgo till I said good-bye to you first, and heard you promise that youwould always be faithful to me."

  "I will say good-bye, George, and my thoughts and prayers will always bewith you, but I cannot promise to be faithful--not in the way you mean."

  "What do you mean, Ruth?" he asked, angrily. "Do you mean that after allthese years you are going to throw me off?"

  Ruth was about to reply, when there was a slight rustling in the bushes.

  "There is some one in the path in the wood."

  George Forester listened for a moment.

  "It's only a rabbit," he said, impatiently. "Never mind that now, butanswer my question. Do you dare to tell me that you are going to throwme over?"

  "I am not going to throw you off, George," she said, quietly; "but I amgoing to give you up. I have tried, oh! how hard I have tried, tobelieve that you would be better some day, but I can't hope so anylonger. You have promised again and again that you would give updrinking, but you are always breaking your promise, and now I find thatin spite of all I've said, you still hold with those bad men atDareport, and that you have taken to poaching, and now they are insearch of you for being one of those concerned in desperately woundingJohn Morton. No, George, I have for years withstood even my father. Ihave loved you in spite of his reproaches and entreaties, but I feel nowthat instead of your making me happy I should be utterly miserable if Imarried you, and I have made a promise to Miss Carne that I would giveyou up."

  "Oh, she has been meddling, has she?" George Forester said with aterrible imprecation; "I will have revenge on her, I swear I will. Soit's she who has done the mischief, and made you false to all youpromised. Curse you! with your smooth face, and your church-going ways,and your canting lies. You think, now they are hunting me away, you cantake up with some one else; but you shan't, I swear, though I swing forit."

  And he grasped her suddenly by the throat; but at this moment there wasa sound of voices in the road behind them, and dashing Ruth to theground with a force that stunned her, he sprang into the woods. A minutelater the stablemen at The Hold came along the road and found Ruth stilllying on the ground.

  "_He grasped her suddenly by the throat._"]

  After a minute's consultation they determined to carry her down to herfather's house, as they had no idea what was the best course to pursueto bring her round. Two of them, therefore, lifted and carried her down,while the other hurried on to prepare the miller for their arrival.

  "Master Powlett," he said as he entered, "your girl has hurt herself; Iexpect she slipped on a stone somehow, going up the hill, and came downheavy; anyhow we found her lying there insensible, and my two mates arebringing her down. We saw her two or three hundred yards ahead of us aswe came out of the churchyard, so she could not have laid there above aminute or so when we came up."

  Ruth was brought in. Mrs. Powlett had not yet returned from Dareport,but a neighbour was soon fetched in by one of the men while another wentfor the doctor, and in a few minutes Ruth opened her eyes.

  "Don't talk, dear," her father said, "lie quiet for a few minutes andyou will soon be better; you slipped down in the road, you know, andgave yourself a shake, but it will be all right now."

  Ruth closed her eyes again and lay quiet for a short time, then shelooked up again and tried to sit up.

  "I am better now, father."

  "Thank God for that, Ruth. It gave me a turn when I saw you carried inhere, I can tell you; but lie still a little time longer, the doctorwill be here in a few minutes."

  "I don't want him, father."

  "Yes, you do, my dear, and anyhow as he has been sent for he must comeand see you; you need not trouble about going up to The Hold, it wasthree of the men there that found you and brought you down; I will senda note by them to Miss Carne telling her you had a bad fall, and that wewill keep you here until to-morrow morning. I am sure you will not befit to walk up that hill again to-day. Anyhow we will wait until thedoctor comes and hear what he says."

  Ten minutes later the doctor arrived, and after hearing Hiram's accountof what had happened, felt Ruth's pulse and then examined her head.

  "Ah, here is where you fell," he said; "a good deal of swelling, and ithas cut the skin. However, a little bathing with warm water is all thatis wanted. There, now, stand up if you can and walk a step or two, andtell me if you feel any pain anywhere else.

  "Ah, nowhere except in the shoulder. Move your arm. Ah, that is allright, nothing broken. You will find you are bruised a good deal, I haveno doubt. Well, you must keep on the sofa all day, and not do anytalking. You have had a severe shake, that's evident, and must take careof yourself for a day or two. You have lost all your colour, and yourpulse is unsteady and your heart beating anyhow. You must keep her quitequiet, Hiram. If I were you I would get her up to bed. Of course youmust not let her talk, and I don't want any talking going on around her,you understand?"

  Hiram did understand, and before Mrs. Powlett returned from chapel,Ruth, with the assistance of the woman who had come in, was in bed.

  "I look upon it as a judgment," Mrs. Powlett said upon her return, whenshe heard the particulars. "If she had been with me at chapel this neverwould have happened. It's a message to her that no good can come of hersitting under that blind guide, the parson. I hope it will open hereyes, and that she will be led to join the fold."

  "I don't think it is likely, Hesba," Hiram said, quietly, "and you willfind it hard to persuade her that loose stone I suppose she trod on wasdropped special into the road to trip her up in coming from church.Anyhow you can't talk about it to-day; the doctor's orders are that sheis to be kept perfectly quiet, that she is not to talk herself, and thatthere's to be no talking in the room. He says she can have a cup of teaif she can take it, but I doubt at present whether she can take eventhat; the poor child looks as if she could scar
ce open her eyes foranything, and no wonder, for the doctor says she must have fallentremendous heavy."

  Mrs. Powlett made the tea and took it upstairs. Any ideas she may havehad of improving the occasion, in spite of the doctor's injunctions,vanished when she saw Ruth's white face on the pillow. Noiselessly sheplaced the little table close to the bed and put the cup upon it. Ruthopened her eyes as she did so.

  "Here is some tea, dearie," Hesba said, softly. "I will put it downhere, and you can drink it when you feel inclined." Ruth murmured "Thankyou," and Hesba stooped over her and kissed her cheek more softly thanshe had ever done before, and then went quietly out of the room again.

  "She looks worse than I thought for, Hiram," she said, as she proceededto help the little servant they kept to lay the cloth for dinner. "Idoubt she's more hurt than the doctor thinks. I could see there weretears on her cheek, and Ruth was never one to cry, not when she was hurtever so much. Of course, it may be because she is low and weak; still Itell you that I don't like it. Is the doctor coming again?"

  "Yes; he said he would look in again this evening."

  "I don't like it," Hesba repeated, "and after dinner I will put on mybonnet and go down to the doctor myself and hear what he has got to sayabout her. Perhaps he will tell me more than he would you; he knows whatpoor creatures men are. They just get frighted out of what wits they'vegot, if you let on any one's bad; but I will get it out of him. Itfrets me to think I wasn't here when she was brought in, instead ofhaving strangers messing about her."

  It came into Hiram's mind to retort that her being away at that momentwas a special warning against her going to Dareport; but the low,troubled voice in which she spoke, and the furtive passing of her handacross her cheek to brush away a tear, effectually silenced him. It wasall so unusual in the case of Hesba, whom, indeed, he had never seen sosoft and womanly since the first day she had crossed the threshold ofthe house, that he was at once touched and alarmed.

  "I hope you are wrong, wife; I hope you are wrong," he said, putting hishand on her shoulder. "I don't think the doctor thought badly of it, buthe seemed puzzled like, I thought; but if there's trouble, Hesba, wewill bear it together, you and I; it's sent for good, we both know that.We goes the same way, you know, wife, if we don't go by the same road."

  The woman made no answer, for at that moment the girl appeared with thedinner. Hesba ate but a few mouthfuls, and then saying sharply that shehad no appetite, rose from the table, put on her bonnet and shawl, and,without a word, walked out.

  She was away longer than Hiram expected, and in the meantime he had toanswer the questions of many of the neighbours, who, having heard fromthe woman who had been called in of Ruth's accident, came to learn theparticulars. When Hesba returned she brought a bundle with her.

  "The doctor's coming in an hour," she said. "I didn't get much out ofhim, except he said it had been a shock to her system, and he was afraidthat there might be slight concussion of the brain. He said if that wasso we should want some ice to put to her head, and I have been up to TheHold and seen Miss Carne. I had heard Ruth say they always have ice upthere, and she has given me some. She was just coming down to inquireabout Ruth, but of course I told her she couldn't talk to nobody. Thatwas the doctor's orders. Has she moved since I have been away?"

  Hiram shook his head. "I have been up twice, but she was just lying withher eyes closed."

  "Well, I will go and sit up there," Hesba said. "Tell that girl if shemakes any noise, out of the house she goes; and the best thing you cando is to take your pipe and sit in that arbour outside, or walk up anddown if you can't keep yourself warm; and don't let any one comeknocking at the door and worriting her. It will be worse for them if Ihas to come down."

  Hiram Powlett obeyed his wife's parting injunction and kept on guard allthe afternoon, being absent from his usual place in church for the firsttime for years. In the evening there was nothing for him to do in thehouse, and his wife being upstairs, he followed his usual custom ofdropping for half an hour into the snuggery of the "Carne Arms."

  "Yes, it's true," he said in answer to the questions of his cronies,"Ruth has had a bad fall, and the doctor this afternoon says as she hasgot a slight concussion of the brain. He said he hoped she would getover it, but he looked serious-like when he came downstairs. It's a badaffair, I expect. But she is in God's hands, and a better girl neverstepped, though I says it." There was a murmur of regret and consolationamong the three smokers, but they saw that Hiram was too upset for manywords, and the conversation turned into other channels for a time, Hiramtaking no share in it but smoking silently.

  "It's a rum thing," he said, presently, during a pause in theconversation, "that a man don't know really about a woman's nature, notwhen he has lived with her for years and years. Now there's my wifeHesba, who has got a tongue as sharp as any one in this village." Amomentary smile passed round the circle, for the sharpness of HesbaPowlett's tongue was notorious. "It scarce seemed to me, neighbours, asshe had got a soft side to her or that she cared more for Ruth than shedid for the house-dog. She always did her duty by her, I will say thatfor her; and a tidier woman and a better housewife there ain't in thecountry round. But duty is one thing and love is another. Now you wouldhardly believe it, but I do think that Hesba feels this business as muchas I do. You wouldn't have knowed her; she goes about the house with hershoes off as quiet as a mouse, and she speaks that soft and gentle youwouldn't know it was her. Women's queer creatures anyway."

  There was a chorus of assent to the proposition, and, in fact, thediscovery that Hesba Powlett had a soft side to her nature wasastonishing indeed.

  For three days Ruth Powlett lay unconscious, and then quiet and goodnursing, and the ice on her head, had their effect; and one evening thedoctor, on visiting her, said that he thought a change had taken place,and that she was now sleeping naturally. The next morning there wasconsciousness in her eyes when she opened them, and she looked insurprise at the room darkened by a curtain pinned across the window, andat Hesba, sitting by her bedside, with a huge nightcap on her head.

  "What is it, mother, what has happened?"

  "You have been ill, Ruth, but thank God you are better now. Don't talk,dear, and don't worry. I have got some beef-tea warming by the fire; thedoctor said you were to try and drink a cup when you woke, and then togo off to sleep again."

  Ruth looked with a feeble surprise after Hesba as she left the room,missing the sharp, decisive foot-tread. In a minute she returned asnoiselessly as she had gone.

  "Can you hold the cup yourself, Ruth, or shall I feed you?"

  Ruth put out her hand, but it was too weak to hold the cup. She wasable, however, slightly to raise her head, and Hesba held the cup to herlips.

  "What have you done to your feet, mother?" she asked, as she finishedthe broth.

  "I have left my shoes downstairs, Ruth; the doctor said you were to bekept quiet. Now try to go to sleep, that's a dear."

  She stooped and kissed the girl affectionately, and Ruth, to hersurprise, felt a tear drop on her cheek. She was wondering over thisstrange circumstance when she again fell asleep.

  In a few days she was about the house again, but she was silent andgrave, and did not gain strength as fast as the doctor had hoped for.However, in three weeks' time she was well enough to return to The Hold.Hiram had strongly remonstrated against her doing so, but she seemed toset her mind upon it, urging that she would be better for havingsomething to think about and do than in remaining idle at home; and asthe doctor was also of opinion that the change would be rather likely tobenefit than to do her harm, Hiram gave way.

  The day before she left she said to her father:

  "Do you know whether George Forester has been caught, or whether he hasgot away?"

  "He has not been caught, Ruth, but I don't think he has gone away; thereis a talk in the village that he has been hiding down at Dareport, andthe constable has gone over there several times, but he can't find signsof him. I think he must be mad to stay so near whe
n he knows he iswanted. I can't think what is keeping him."

  "I have made up my mind, father, to give him up. You have been right,and I know now he would not make me a good husband; but please don't sayanything against him, it is hard enough as it is."

  Hiram kissed his daughter.

  "Thank God for that news, Ruth. I hoped after that poaching business youwould see it in that light, and that he wasn't fit for a mate for onelike you. Your mother will be glad, child. She ain't like the same womanas she was, is she?"

  "No, indeed, father, I do not seem to know her."

  "I don't know as I was ever so knocked over in my life as I wasyesterday, Ruth, when your mother came downstairs in her bonnet andshawl, and said, 'I am going to church with you, Hiram.' I didn't openmy lips until we were half-way, and then she said as how it had beenborne in on her as how her not being here when you was brought in was ajudgment on her for being away at Dareport instead of being at churchwith us; and she said more than that, as how, now she thought over it,she saw as she hadn't done right by me and you all these years, andhoped to make a better wife what time she was left to us. I wasn't sureat church time as it wasn't a dream to see her sitting there beside me,and joining in the hymns, listening attentive to the parson as she hasalways been running down. She said on the way home she felt just as shedid when she was a girl, five-and-twenty years ago, and used to comeover here to church, afore she took up with the Methodies."

  Ruth kissed her father.

  "Then my fall has done good after all," she said. "It makes me happy toknow it."

  "I shall be happy when I see you quite yourself again, Ruth. Come backto us soon, dear."

  "I will, father; in the spring I will come home again for good, Ipromise you," and so Ruth returned for a time to The Hold.

  "I am glad you are back again, Ruth," Miss Carne, who had been downseveral times to see her, said. "I told you not to hurry yourself, and Iwould have done without you for another month, but you know I am reallyvery glad to have you back again. Mary managed my hair very well, but Icould not talk to her as I do to you."

  Ruth had not been many hours in the house before she learnt from herfellow-servants that Mr. Gulston had been over two or three times sincethe shooting party, and that the servants in general had an opinion thathe came over to see Miss Carne.

  "It's easy to see that with half an eye," one of the girls said, "and Ithink Miss Margaret likes him too, and no wonder, for a properer-lookingman is not to be seen; but I always thought she would have married hercousin. Every one has thought so for years."

  "It's much better she should take the sailor gentleman," one of theelder women said. "I am not saying anything against Mr. Ronald, who isas nice a young gentleman as one would want to see, but he is hercousin, and I don't hold to marriages among cousins anyhow, andespecially in a family like ours."

  "I think it is better for us not to talk about it at all," Ruth said,quietly; "I don't think it right and proper, and it will be quite timeenough to talk about Miss Margaret's affairs when we know she isengaged."

  The others were silent for a minute after Ruth's remark, and then theunder-housemaid, who had been an old playmate of Ruth's, said:

  "You never have ideas like other people, Ruth Powlett. It is a funnything that we can't say a word about people in the house without beingsnapped up."

  "Ruth is right," the other said, "and your tongue runs too fast, Jane.As Ruth says, it will be quite time enough to talk when Miss Margaretis engaged; till then the least said the better."

  In truth, Lieutenant Gulston had been several times at The Hold, and hisfriend the doctor, seeing his admonition had been altogether thrownaway, avoided the subject, but from his gravity of manner showed that hehad not forgotten it; and he shook his head sadly when one afternoon thelieutenant had obtained leave until the following day. "I wish I hadnever spoken. Had I not been an old fool I should have known well enoughthat he was fairly taken by her. We have sailed together for twelveyears, and now there is an end to our friendship. I hope that will beall, and that he will not have reason to be sorry he did not take myadvice and drop it in time. Of course she may have escaped and I thinkthat she has done so; but it's a terrible risk--terrible. I would give ayear's pay that it shouldn't have happened."

  An hour before Lieutenant Gulston left his ship, Ronald Mervyn hadstarted for The Hold. A word that had been said by a young officer ofthe flagship who was dining at mess had caught his ears. It wasconcerning his first-lieutenant.

  "He's got quite a fishing mania at present, and twice a week he goes offfor the day to some place twenty miles away--Carnesford, I think it is.He does not seem to have much luck; anyhow, he never brings any fishhome. He is an awfully good fellow, Gulston; the best first-lieutenant Iever sailed with by a long way."

  What Ronald Mervyn heard was not pleasant to him. He had noticed theattentions Gulston had paid to Margaret Carne at the ball, and had beenby no means pleased at meeting him, installed at The Hold with theshooting party, and the thought that he had been twice a week over inthat neighbourhood caused an angry surprise. The next morning,therefore, he telegraphed home for a horse to meet him at the station,and started as soon as lunch was over. He stayed half an hour at home,for his house lay on the road between the station and Carne's Hold. Theanswer he received from his sister to a question he put did not add tohis good temper.

  Oh, yes. Mr. Gulston had called a day or two after he had been to theshooting party, and they had heard he had been at The Hold several timessince.

  When he arrived there, Ronald found that Margaret and her brother wereboth in the drawing-room, and he stood chatting with them there for sometime, or rather chatting with Margaret, for Reginald was dull and moody.At last the latter sauntered away.

  "What's the matter with you, sir?" Margaret said to her cousin. "Youdon't seem to be quite yourself; is it the weather? Reginald is dullerand more silent than usual, he has hardly spoken a word to-day."

  "No, it's not the weather," he replied, sharply. "I want to ask you aquestion, Margaret."

  "Well, if you ask it civilly," the girl replied, "I will answer it, butcertainly not otherwise."

  "I hear that that sailor fellow has been coming here several times. Whatdoes it mean?"

  Margaret Carne threw back her head haughtily. "What do you mean, Ronald,by speaking in that tone; are you out of your mind?"

  "Not more than the family in general," he replied, grimly; "but you havenot answered my question."

  "I have not asked Lieutenant Gulston what he comes here for," she said,coldly; "and, besides, I do not recognise your right to ask me such aquestion."

  "Not recognise my right?" he repeated, passionately. "I should havethought that a man had every right to ask such a question of the womanhe is going to marry."

  "Going to marry?" she repeated, scornfully. "At any rate this is thefirst I have heard of it."

  "It has always been a settled thing," he said, "and you know it as wellas I do. You promised me ten years ago that you would be my wife someday."

  "Ten years ago I was a child. Ronald, how can you talk like this! Youknow we have always been as brother and sister together. I have neverthought of anything else of late. You have been home four or fivemonths, anyhow, and you have had plenty of time to speak if you wantedto. You never said a word to lead me to believe that you thought of mein any other way than as a cousin."

  "I thought we understood each other, Margaret."

  "I thought so too," the girl replied, "but not in the same way. Oh,Ronald, don't say this; we have always been such friends, and perhapsyears ago I might have thought it would be something more; but sincethen I have grown up and grown wiser, and even if I had loved you in theway you speak of, I would not have married you, because I am sure itwould be bad for us both. We have both that terrible curse in our blood,and if there was not another man in the world I would not marry you."

  "I don't believe you would have said so a month ago," Ronald Mervynsaid, looking darkly at her. "
This Gulston has come between us, that'swhat it is, and you cannot deny it."

  "You are not behaving like a gentleman, Ronald," the girl said, quietly."You have no right to say such things."

  "I have a right to say anything," he burst out. "You have fooled me andspoilt my life, but you shall regret it. You think after all these yearsI am to be thrown by like an old glove. No, by Heaven; you may throw meover, but I swear you shall never marry this sailor or any one else,whatever I do to prevent it. You say I have the curse of the Carnes inmy blood. You are right, and you shall have cause to regret it."

  He leapt from the window, which Margaret had thrown open a short timebefore, for the fire had overheated the room, ran down to the stables,leapt on his horse, and rode off at a furious pace. Neither he norMargaret had noticed that a moment before a man passed along the walkclose under the window. It was Lieutenant Gulston. He paused for amoment as he heard his name uttered in angry tones, opened the hall doorwithout ceremony, and hurried towards that of the drawing-room. ReginaldCarne was standing close to it, and it flashed across Gulston's mindthat he had been listening. He turned his head at the sailor's quickstep. "Don't go in there just at present, Gulston, I fancy Margaret ishaving a quarrel with her cousin. They are quiet now, we had best leavethem alone."

  "He was using very strong language," the sailor said, hotly. "I caught aword or two as I passed the windows."

  "It's a family failing. I fancy he has gone now. I will go in and see. Ithink it were best for you to walk off for a few minutes, and then comeback again. People may quarrel with their relatives, you know, but theydon't often care for other people to be behind the scenes."

  "No, you are quite right," Gulston answered; "the fact is, for themoment I was fairly frightened by the violence of his tone, and reallyfeared that he was going to do something violent. It was foolish, ofcourse, and I really beg your pardon. Yes, what you say is quite right.If you will allow me I will have the horse put in the trap again. I gotout at the gate and walked across the garden, telling the man to takethe horse straight round to the stables; but I think I had better goand come again another day. After such a scene as she has gone throughMiss Carne will not care about having a stranger here."

  "No, I don't think that would be best," Reginald Carne said. "She wouldwonder why you did not come, and would, likely enough, hear from hermaid that you had been and gone away again, and might guess you hadheard something of the talking in there. No, I think you had better doas I said--go away, and come again in a few minutes."

  The lieutenant accordingly went out and walked about the shrubbery for ashort time, and then returned. Miss Carne did not appear at dinner, butsent down a message to say that she had so bad a headache she would notbe able to appear downstairs that evening.

  Reginald Carne did not play the part of host so well as usual. At timeshe was gloomy and abstracted, and then he roused himself and talkedrapidly. Lieutenant Gulston thought that he was seriously discomposed atthe quarrel between his sister and his cousin; and he determined at anyrate not to take the present occasion to carry out the intention he hadformed of telling Reginald Carne that he was in love with his sister,and hoped he would have no objection to his telling her so, as he had agood income besides his pay as first-lieutenant. When the men had beensitting silently for some time after wine was put on the table, he said:

  "I think, Carne, I will not stop here to-night. Your sister is evidentlyquite upset with this affair, and no wonder. I shall feel myselfhorribly _de trop_, and would rather come again some other time if youwill let me. If you will let your man put a horse in the trap I shallcatch the ten o'clock train comfortably."

  "Perhaps that would be best, Gulston. I am not a very lively companionat the best of times, and family quarrels are unpleasant enough for astranger."

  A few minutes later Lieutenant Gulston was on his way to the station. Hehad much to think about on his way home. In one respect he had everyreason to be well satisfied with what he had heard, as it had left nodoubt whatever in his mind that Margaret Carne had refused the offer ofher cousin, and that the latter had believed that he had been refusedbecause she loved him--Charlie Gulston. Of course she had not said so;still she could not have denied it, or her cousin's wrath would not havebeen turned against him.

  Then he was sorry that such a quarrel had taken place, as it wouldprobably lead to a breach between the two families. He knew Margaret wasvery fond of her aunt and the girls. Then the violence with which RonaldMervyn had spoken caused him a deal of uneasiness. Was it possible thata sane man would have gone on like that? Was it possible that the curseof the Carnes was still working? This was an unpleasant thought; butthat which followed was still more anxious.

  Certainly, from the tone of his voice, he had believed that RonaldMervyn was on the point of using violence to Margaret, and if the manwas really not altogether right in his head there was no saying what hemight do. As for himself, he laughed at the threats that had beenuttered against him. Mad or sane, he had not the slightest fear ofRonald Mervyn. But if, as was likely enough, this mad-brained fellowtried to fix a quarrel upon him in some public way, it might be horriblyunpleasant--so unpleasant that he did not care to think of it. Heconsoled himself by hoping that when Mervyn's first burst of passion hadcalmed down, he might look at the matter in a more reasonable light, andsee that at any rate he could not bring about a public quarrel withoutMargaret's name being in some way drawn into it; that her cousin couldnot wish, however angry he might be with her.

  It was an unpleasant business. If Margaret accepted him, he would takeher away from all these associations. It was marvellous that she was sobright and cheerful, knowing this horrible story about that Spanishwoman, and that there was a taint in the blood. That brother of hers,too, was enough to keep the story always in her mind. The doctor wascertainly right about him. Of course he wasn't mad, but there wassomething strange about him, and at times you caught him looking at youin an unpleasant sort of way.

  "He is always very civil," the lieutenant muttered to himself; "in fact,wonderfully civil and hospitable, and all that. Still I never feel quiteat my ease with him. If I had been a rich man, and they had been hardup, I should have certainly suspected there was a design in hisinvitations, and that he wanted me to marry Margaret; but, of course,that is absurd. He can't tell that I have a penny beyond my pay; and agirl like Margaret might marry any one she liked, at any rate out ofDevonshire. Perhaps he may not have liked the idea of her marrying thiscousin of hers; and no doubt he is right there, and seeing, as I daresayhe did see, that I was taken with Margaret, he thought it better to giveme a chance than to let her marry Mervyn.

  "I don't care a snap whether all her relations are mad or not. I knowthat she is as free from the taint as I am; but it can't be wholesomefor a girl to live in such an atmosphere, and the next time I go over Iwill put the question I meant to put this evening, and if she says yes,I will very soon get her out of it all." And then the lieutenantindulged in visions of pretty houses, with bright gardens looking overthe sea, and finally concluded that a little place near Ryde or Coweswould be in every way best and most convenient, as being handy toPortsmouth, and far removed from Devonshire and its associations. "Ihope to get my step in about a year; then I will go on half-pay. I havecapital interest, and I daresay my cousin in the Admiralty will be ableto get me a dockyard appointment of some sort at Portsmouth; if not, Ishall, of course, give it up. I am not going to knock about the worldafter I am married."

  This train of thought occupied him until almost mechanically he left thetrain, walked down to the water, hailed a boat, and was taken alongsidehis ship.